My Lady Love— Desire Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

My Lady Love— Desire



My love of her to raging fever turned,
I still longed to embrace her for raw frill,
Hoped, she'd cool down, in self-lit fire get burned
In passion of her own, venom evil;
Clueless, I sought some old medics to see—
Miss Reason and Resolve, both of fine bent,
But not ill, I needed no remedy—
The fever's just a signal, no ailment.
And beware; end of desire is road's end,
Lose life's desires and lose all zest for life,
And not all, bad be those that morals bend,
Bad be but the excess reeking greed rife;
Desire, made of the matter man is made,
Kill it to kill his will; he's good as dead.
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Indic philosophy talks about eliminating desires. But this is for those that have reached certain stage and not for all. For most, the path of karma without hankering after fruits is good enough. As this sonnet says, not all desires are bad. What is bad is too much of it, but then so is too much of anything. One needs to guard against the quantity, and keep in mind the quality of desires.
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Sonnets | 17.11.08 |

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Aniruddha Pathak

Aniruddha Pathak

Godhra - Gujarat
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